


Luckily He Wasn't a Student Anymore

by jasmiinitee



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: ADHD/ADD Morse if you want to read it like that, Academic flirting, Anal Sex, Bisexual Morse, Bottom Morse, Degüello, Erotic Literature, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Missing Scene, One Night Stand, Oral Sex, Series 6, Surprise: it's feels time!, Technically Canon, admirable but not straight, age difference used to fuel pet names but nothing as gross as my source had, and morse recognises it as filth by title, but made queer, but morse is slutty AND bisexual separately, dinner date, happy pride 20biteen guys, if you want to believe, memoirs of a voluptuary isn't just porn it's gay porn, morse fucks a suspect and despairs, morse gets rawed by a math professor, morsestache, not too much but it's definitely there, the slutty bisexual is a problematic trope i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:15:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmiinitee/pseuds/jasmiinitee
Summary: or the Story of How E Morse Got Invited for a Dinner at One of the Colleges Again, and Got Called a Very Handsome Boy at the End of the Day, Despite the MoustacheSet during Degüello but ignoring all pressing matters for the sake of another one of Morse's disaster dates.I fully blame Fitzrove for this, but also I need the rest of you to see this gem too.





	1. Less Academic Interests

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fitzrove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzrove/gifts).



> I don't even have any excuses. 
> 
> They read, they met, they shot a few amused and embarrassed glances over at each other while Fred Thursday had [the thousand-mark stare](https://media1.tenor.com/images/6dcd6fff298b40b1343988af39a54781/tenor.gif) going on, and then they shagged.  
> I don't make the rules.
> 
>  _Memoirs of a Voluptuary (or the secret life of an English boarding school)_ is an uncomfortably purple and flowery gay-bisexual erotica from 1906 or so.  
> Based on his recognition speed and moustache-covered smirk alone, I **would not believe** you if any of you tried to tell me that Morse hasn't read it at least once.

 

> _That I have not drawn an unreal picture will, I am sure, be felt by all those who can bring the light of personal experience to bear on these pages. It would not be true to say that all scholastic institutions are exactly as I have depicted, as the governing principles of these establishments differ very considerably; but there is always a strong undercurrent of eroticism present, which only needs the existence of favourable circumstances to render itself prominent on the surface as well as below it._

 

* * *

 

'Sorry, detective?' Doctor Nicholson asked carefully, before they had the chance to leave. He looked a bit shifty, still, but had calmed down a bit.

Morse turned around at the door, glancing towards Thursday quickly. Thursday nodded, stopping on his tracks in the corridor.

 

'Yes, Doctor Nicholson?' Morse said, and tried for a polite smile even though he knew nothing about the man yet. Not much more than the fact that presently he had a very odd curious look on his face, as he watched Morse, instead of the earlier trepidation.

'Morse, was it?'

'Yes, sir.'

Jasper Nicholson smiled a little, but something in his eyes was sharp.

'Is there something else you can tell?'

'Oh, no. I do hope you manage to solve this, but… This is just curiosity, on my part,' he said.

Morse replied with as encouraging an expression he could manage. There wasn't much they could tell, but he could try.

Jasper Nicholson clasped his hands together and narrowed his eyes a fraction. 'You seem _familiar_ with the work in question,' he said.

'I...' Morse cut himself off when he realised what the implication was. He closed his mouth and huffed out a nervous chuckle. 'Oh.'

 

He didn't want to see Thursday's face. He didn't particularly enjoy the challenging look on Nicholson's face, either, but at least they weren't colleagues.

Nicholson wasn't the one asking questions here. Not after having sat in the library on the night of what was most definitely a murder. Still, Morse couldn't exactly leave the polite jab unanswered, either. Thursday would have grown suspicious, and even more so if Morse had told him of the book's contents.

Doctor Nicholson had him pinned under his clever gaze like a very surprised and ugly butterfly, one with the faint karmic traces of an amused smile still on his face. Morse didn't enjoy it one bit. (Though he couldn't say that he hated it, either - that hesitant measuring look. It just made him a bit uneasy.)

 

'I'm afraid _I haven't_ exactly done research on that work, no,' Morse said and shook his head. Unlike Jasper Nicholson himself, in what must have been a very thorough reading.

'Ah, of course,' the doctor said, agreeable and understanding like any good teacher ought to be.

'Only briefly.' Morse nodded. The professor smiled a nervous, gentle smile again, and mirrored the nod. So, it was an agreement, perhaps, of mutual silence. Morse could accept that.

'For less academic interests, then, I assume?' Jasper Nicholson asked calmly. It was another smack that left Morse stunned, and he stared ahead in silence with a dull look of surprise.

 

'No, I... I don't think I said that.' Morse cleared his throat, and unfortunately glanced to Thursday's direction. He was looking a little too confused about where the talk was headed, lifting his brows like Morse should have explained himself.

'I was up in Lonsdale, years ago,' he told Nicholson calmly, though he felt his face and ears prickling uncomfortably. 'Literature, languages. I know the libraries well.'

'I see. Lovely. There's too few of you modern humanists around,' the doctor said. 'And now you're a policeman. Very interesting.'

It would have all been absolutely fine, had Morse not seen from the quirk of his lips that Doctor Nicholson saw right through him.

 

'Well, if that was all...?' He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and ear, and knew he'd lost all of his professional appearance in the mathematician's eyes.

'Yes, quite.'

'Good. Let us know if...' Morse almost said _if you wish to discuss it more_ , but instead of the case it would have come across as something completely else. 'If anything else concerning the situation springs to mind.'

'You wouldn't happen to have a personal card, sergeant?' Nicholson asked. 'I'd gladly take one - I tend to forget names sometimes. Often.'

Morse stared at him. It wasn't right, but had he said aloud that he thought something was wrong, he would have revealed himself to be just as bent.

'Of course,' he said. Morse had to clear his throat and swallow before he offered his card to the doctor. 'Here.'

'Thank you,' Jasper Nicholson said, took the card, and shook his hand firmly. He had very soft hands, wide and warm. The man was good at what he was doing. Uncomfortably so.

'Don't hesitate to telephone me,' Morse said, and wanted to slap himself across the face.

 

He rushed back to the door and to where Thursday was standing, trying to keep his facial ticks to a minimum.

'We must be off now.'

'Hopefully you manage to find your answers, inspector, sergeant,' Doctor Nicholson said.

'Likewise,' Thursday said with a heavy look, thankfully saving Morse from more sweating and stuttering. Morse only shut his mouth, nodded and hurried away along the corridor.

 

Oh God, what had he agreed to? What had he _invited_ upon himself? The secret life of Oxford's colleges, apparently.

 

'What sort of a book is it?' Thursday asked. 'These memoirs.'

'I don't know, sir, but I know it's… it wasn't morally acceptable,' Morse said. He wished that he had learned to be a better liar in the years they'd known each other, but perhaps Thursday wouldn't want to know too much about it, anyway. 'Anonymously published, that sort.'

'Violent or just indecent?'

'Not violent, no.' Morse cleared his throat. 'I wouldn't think so. Not about stabbing anyone to their death, anyway.'

Thursday nodded, and gave him a long look. Morse weathered it in innocent silence until the inspector nodded again. 'Still, hopefully he starts talking, sooner or later. Not really something for a mathematician, is it, that kind of literature.'

'Mm.'

Not unless they were very homosexually inclined, no, but Morse didn't say that one aloud.

 

Later that afternoon, while he was still down in his personal cellar Hell-hole, he got the call he had been expecting in anxious fear and curiosity for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote in the beginning is from the preface to Memoirs of a Voluptuary.
> 
> I also really need music whenever I'm writing, so if you folks want a weird gay folksy playlist to listen to, it's on [Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/user/jasminvmaja/playlist/2KafkxDTwyfc1IinADZGTv?si=w6LGmeyqTIiaAlawbNPOAQ)


	2. It's a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit longer one. It's very polite of Doctor Jasper Nicholson to be so courteous to his newest date.

 

> _She laced me up in a stiff satin corset, which was jolly uncomfortable at first, but this feeling wore off after a time. I had on petticoats with lots of beautiful lace frills all round, and long openwork silk stockings; and I just managed to squeeze into a pair of Cecile's high-heeled embroidered shoes. - - Before I could summon up strength for further resistance, or even recover my voice, he had with a lightening movement got his free hand underneath my petticoats, and next instant it was resting between my thighs. The shock at what he felt there must have been great. He drew a long breath and did not move for a moment, then exclaimed hoarsely, 'Mon Dieu! It is a boy.'_

 

* * *

 

Disaster after disaster, worry after worry, and lead after lead, Morse dashed through the night and the following day. He was so deep in his dark thoughts (how could a newly-built council estate physically _fall to pieces_ over its inhabitants, the very citizens who paid for it and sorely needed it) and so engrossed in his leads (Miss Teagarden's old mail and Professor Burrowes's odd sand, the dirty tracks all around) that he nearly missed the mark.

Five o'clock, he'd decided.

It was closer to six, by the time he remembered that he'd had a time set for himself to end the day, but he still couldn't remember what for. No matter how much he rummaged his brain for answers or his desk for clues, he found nothing except "five o'clock", late for it by an hour, on a piece of paper. Another one of the same in his notebook.

 

It was quarter past when he _did_ remember what the time had been for, and then he was rushing up, back to the surface of the earth.

 

 _'I would gladly meet with you again, Sergeant Morse, for a little talk if you will,'_ Doctor Nicholson had said over the telephone. Morse had felt like he'd been doing something positively illegal just listening to him.

'When might you have time for it?'

 _'How about I treated you to a dinner over at the college?'_ Nicholson had asked.

'Oh,' Morse had said, in a rather unintelligent way.

_'Only if you have a free evening, of course. I would hate to be a hindrance to your important work.'_

'No, not at all. I mean, I do. I can have a free evening, tomorrow.' Morse had written down the time and details for Garstang's dinner service with a shaky hand, as the doctor recited it for him, balancing the telephone between his shoulder and ear. 'I would love it, really. I'm, err… I'm rarely busy. I rarely meet with anyone.'

_'Not the sort to go out on a date with a nice girl, detective?'_

'I'm not against dates. I meant anyone. Man or woman,' he had said as firmly as he managed with his breath caught in his throat, though likely it was the clumsiest answer one could give to such a simple question.

 _'The answer must be no, then. Well.'_ Jasper Nicholson had almost sounded like he'd held back a smile. _'I'd be happy to share some thoughts on my research, and whatever I can tell to help you with your investigation.'_

 

They'd agreed to meet quarter to seven. He was left with half an hour to make himself decent and sort out his thoughts.

 

Morse tried to straighten his tie and shirt as best he could, despite the stressful and fast-paced day and night and another day, but his efforts were mostly in vain. The wrinkles stayed where they were, but thankfully weren't as staggering in a dark shirt, as had he worn white.

The mirror in the lift wasn't the best for trying to see if his hair stuck out in all directions, it was clammy and the lighting was poor, but had to do. If only he'd had a comb with him. No matter how many times he patted his pockets down, he hadn't found one.

 

He didn't have time for much else either. He _certainly_ wasn't about to rush to his cramped flat to change clothes for dining at a college with a murder suspect. There was no reason for anyone to try and get all dolled up, just to continue a murder investigation.

Nor for anything else that might have followed. It wasn't that big of a fuss.

It wasn't too long since he'd shaved his jaw, either, and it didn't look bad yet. _He_ didn't look _that_ bad. A bit tired, sure, a bit hung-over, maybe, very disoriented, absolutely. But not too bad.

Besides, his hair had never been the smartest sort, whether he tried to keep it longer or shorter. He had looked just as he did now, when he made his first impressions, hadn't he.

 

The lift stopped and Morse gave up. The doors opened to Jim Strange's surprised face.

 

'Strange,' Morse coughed out.

'Morse.' He nodded, eyes scrutinising, and Morse couldn't remember for the life of him when exactly Strange's looks had become so sharp and searching. 'You look like you've seen a ghost.'

'Good evening to you, too,' Morse said, and tried to push past him, but Strange didn't budge.

'Where are you going in such a rush?'

'I'm not in a rush.'

'No?' Strange asked and looked him up and down. 'Jacket unbuttoned, and panting like a thoroughbred.'

Morse buttoned his jacket up and pulled his overcoat on with a huff. 'I lost track of time. I'm done for today.' He made a start for the doors.

 

'Where are you headed?' Strange asked, falling into step beside him, cursed for being tall enough to match his strides with little effort. Wherever Strange had been going, originally, Morse quickly saw himself becoming the new target of his enquiries.

'I have a meeting,' he told Strange with a clipped tone, ready to run a soon as he exited the station building.

'You mean you've got a date?'

'No!' Morse said, and Strange lifted a brow. _Yes, it was a date_ , and yes, they both knew it. 'I'm meeting with a suspect.' Nevermind that it sounded very wrong after the previous thought, and had him sneering.

'And you're not overworking yourself?' Strange asked.

'I am not.'

The sharp look darkened a little, and Strange lowered his voice. 'Not losing the plot?' Like some of the other men around, apparently.

'No, I'm not. I'm just trying to get to the bottom of this,' Morse snapped at him.

Strange gave him a long look and a soft sigh. 'All right.'

'Besides, I thought you had new responsibilities too,' Morse said.

Strange shrugged calmly. 'Might have.'

'And I've got mine. I want to solve whatever's going on.' Morse smiled tightly, and hoped that the questions would end.

'I'm sure that's good, matey,' Strange agreed. He was being so _sensible_ , despite having no idea what Morse was actually about to do. 'Though _going home_ at least once a week would sound good, too, instead of work and...' He nodded back towards the lift; Morse's personal cellar. 'Well, more work.' He sounded almost worried.

 

Morse paused and tried to look somewhat casually frustrated instead of actively paranoid.

'If it makes you feel better, I promise to try and relax tonight,' he said, but with a half-hearted sharp glare. 'After asking a few questions, first.'

'Sure. Let me know how you're holding up, afterwards,' Strange said, and held the door open for him.

'I will,' Morse said, and mentally vowed not to. Never.

 

* * *

 

'Detective Morse,' Nicholson said when they met at the edge of the quad at seven. The sky was slowly starting to turn a dustier blue.

'Doctor Nicholson.' Morse smiled, and shook the doctor's firm warm hand again. His heart felt frustratingly loud as it beat in his chest. 'I'm afraid I haven't had the time to make my presence known to the college in advance.'

'I've booked a plus one for myself tonight, don't you worry about it,' Nicholson assured him with a smile.

'Thank you, I appreciate it,' Morse said, hated himself for the fact that the words _really did_ soothe his nerves.

 

He hadn't even had time to make himself at all presentable for joining the second dinner service of the day, the formal one. He should have stopped by his flat after all, and changed on something more presentable than the suit he'd worn for work. Maybe not entirely black tie, but he could have at least changed on a white shirt.

 

Garstang College wasn't far from Lonsdale - just behind it on the corner of Turl Street, actually - so it was all almost too familiar, to walk there with someone in their robes. Still, not counting the open quads, Morse had never really been inside the faculties, apart from their earlier visit to Professor Nicholson's lecture room.

Garstang was one of the smaller colleges, one with many grammar school scholarships instead of those who entered from public schools. That also meant that there were many very clever students and researchers, but it was a place with a somewhat backwater reputation. Everyone knew that.

 

Still. Morse found himself strongly agreeing with those who said that Garstang's dining hall was among the finer in the whole university. It was tall and wide, with dark wainscoting and a pale neoclassical ceiling. Lovely long tables and a finely set high table under a row of old portraits. One of the Virgin Queen, too.

It was very nice. After the suffocatingly blocky and dusty cellar bunker he'd been sitting in, the beauty of the hall actually made Morse a little angry.

How _dare_ the place look so nice, especially after a man had just been killed, when Doctor Nicholson was a suspect, especially after Morse himself was such a shaky bundle of nerves.

 

Jasper Nicholson actually had to nudge his elbow gently to get his feet moving past the Hall doorway. Morse apologised quietly and let himself be led to a spot where one could comfortably see the entire hall and all the dining guests.

 

Though the colour in his curly hair had faded to a dull silver, and he seemed fairly self-possessed and nervous, Nicholson had a spry and curious look about him. He must have been a stern teacher, the sort that listened and answered questions gladly, but didn't take kindly to any sort of misbehaviour during his tutorials.

An intelligent-looking man, certainly. He was charming and rather handsome, Morse supposed, if you went for that sort.

 

And yes, apparently _he_ did. He hadn't paid any attention to _what_ exactly the doctor was talking about for the last few minutes, as he was very much stuck staring at his dark arched eyebrows and animated hands; just listening to his clean accent, and the firm sharp tenor of his voice.

 

'Isn't that somewhat of a reputation for Lonsdale as well?'

'Mhm.' Morse blinked slowly. 'Sorry, what is?'

'Natural sciences? Mathematics and chemistry,' Nicholson said in a benevolent but tired tone, one that made Morse feel much too alike an unruly undergraduate.

'Yes. Yes, I believe so,' he rushed to say. Of course - after all, didn't most of the colleges try for where the research funding went, nowadays. 'Though we did have many of us reading history, and the Classics and Greats too, when I was up.'

'Of course,' Jasper Nicholson agreed firmly, and leaned closer. He gave Morse a curious look up and down. 'Garstang has also had a seat for a fellow of Modern Languages since I was an undergrad. History much longer than that, too. Very good, don't you think? One is not more important than the other.'

'At least not for you, it seems,' Morse said.

Doctor Nicholson's fork paused briefly on its way to his lips.

 

'Whatever gave you the idea, detective?' he asked. He had been snappish and avoidant about the matter earlier - no surprise there, given the kind of books he was researching - but Morse was fairly certain that his tone now was a bit more accommodating. (Almost toying.)

 

'You're somewhat of a regular at the Bodleian, I believe?' Morse asked and crossed his hands to lean a bit over the table. (Uncouth, yes, maybe. But he was the policeman, not the doctor of mathematics.) 'That's what the library assistant to Mr Page told us. Me and the inspector.'

'Over at the upstairs research rooms? English literature?' Doctor Nicholson asked despite knowing as well as Morse himself that it was exactly what he meant. The doctor didn't lift his eyes from the potatoes he was cutting. 'Yes, I believe so. Recently, at least. A lovely girl, that one... what's her name?'

'Miss Paroo,' Morse said.

'Of course.'

'She said that Mr Page was quite opposed to your current research topics. Was he?'

'Are you?' Nicholson asked back, in a much too casual and friendly manner, with another sharp glance in his direction. Morse didn't reply, but he couldn't keep the little twitch of his lips hidden, either.

 

'It's quite the topic,' he managed, and inclined his head. 'I saw your full list. Miss Paroo was kind enough to trust me with it.'

'Oh, she did that, did she?' Nicholson said and nearly laughed, but caught himself in time, and only nodded with an amused look about him. 'Unfortunately, I fear it must not be very helpful for your investigation, Sergeant Morse, is it?'

'Not until it is. We like to be thorough.'

'That's an admirable quality in a man, whether he's studious or a public servant,' Nicholson said. 'Though I believe you're a bit of both, sergeant.'

 

Granted, as a way to _flirt_ it was very poor indeed, but perhaps teasing Nicholson a bit about his recent reading would prompt better results later. Better results for the investigation, of course. Nothing else. Morse was only after information - if there was anything else the doctor wished for, he'd be the one to ask for it too, and Morse vowed to stay adamant on his decision.

 

'And your... wife?' Morse asked carefully, letting his eyes rake over others enjoying their dinner. The one who hadn't been able to work as Nicholson's alibi for the night of the murder. The one whose husband read through the entire Bodleian indecent collections' worth of Edwardian homoeroticism for a hobby.

Nicholson cleared his throat and coughed a few times. 'Oh, her,' he said curtly. 'As I said, she wasn't with me the night poor Mr Page was killed, but I do assure you, I went straight home after Miss Paroo rang the ten minute bell.'

'What's her name? Your wife's,' Morse asked. 'Is she still away?'

'Carys. Welsh, would you believe it. We get along very well, her and I, but yes, she is away from town,' Jasper Nicholson said. 'We've rarely any marital disagreements over which one of us spends their time wherever they choose. And with whomever we choose.'  
Doctor Nicholson's look was slow and pointed.

Morse gave him a careful look in return.

Was it a lie or an invitation? A dinner date and the potential for a quick... _whatever_  at the doctor's college rooms, that was something he might have excused easily. But an invitation to a married man's _bed_.

'I see,' he managed, more of a witless idiot with each word he said.


	3. Common Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which college environment makes all men college girls with crushes, and we don't have to worry about Mrs Nicholson, because even if Morse is a blind idiot _Harold they're homosexuals_ , both of them.  
> Oh yeah and smut ahead.

 

> _The idea of what I was about to do overcame me for a moment with its strangeness, but my hesitancy did not last long, and, lowering my head, I took the purple top between my lips. -- and all the time Bob lay limp and exhausted, his eyes shut and his mouth slightly open. I found him so when at last I lifted up my head, but as I looked at him his eyelids parted and our gaze met._
> 
> _"That was a one," he said. "You know how to do it properly, Charlie, and no mistake."_

 

* * *

 

The dreaming spires above and outside were too hushed and sleepy for the itching pulse rushing through his palms and legs. Dons and researchers, students and guests were all oblivious to the trouble Morse had found himself in, despite sitting in the same hall. He'd drank too much and asked too little, and really, he was none the wiser regarding Jasper Nicholson's involvement in the case.

 

But the man had made him _smile_ , for once. Morse had half laughed at some of his stories, even if they were just something light and trivial about rich students and other doctors. But still, it was something told to him, and told with intelligent words and firm looks. And not only had he talked - Nicholson had listened, too, when he'd asked Morse more about his choir singing ('Was it you in the papers a few years ago?') and favourite operas.

 

It was very nice, and even though they sat in the college hall, it really _felt_ like a date. It _was_ a date, Morse was sure of it, but he couldn't decide what to make of it.

 

Morse kept his eyes on the pristine white saucer nearest to him as he toyed with it, tilting it around on its base absent-mindedly.

'Would, er… When will your wife be returning?'

'Next week, I think.' Doctor Nicholson's amused look lingered on his restless hands for a beat. Morse stopped bothering the cutlery.

'Oh.'

'She's visiting a friend of hers, in Cambridge, much to my long-standing annoyance. Always laughing at the faces I make when she announces another visit.'

'No Oxbridge for you, sir?'

'Heavens no.' Nicholson frowned, but with a playful look. 'Rather any other. Make it Oxford-Redbrick. I'd take Manchester and Liverpool over Cambridge any day.'

Morse coughed and sat up again. There it was again - why he should have stayed out of the colleges once he'd left them behind.

'Surely there's worth in that, too. Redbrick. Educating not only those with fortune enough to go up to an Oxbridge college,' he argued quietly.

 

Nicholson looked at him at length. Then he sighed, and his expression softened.

'Of course. You were a scholarship student, weren't you.'

'I was.' Morse shrugged. He did his best not to look too bitter, but must have failed. 'Not anymore, mind you.'

Nicholson shook his head and rushed to lift a placating hand. 'Nevertheless, a terrible faux pas on my account. Can I do something to ease your mind?'

'Oh, I think… the dinner's been quite nice, already,' Morse said. 'Thank you, sir.'

Doctor Nicholson leaned a bit closer to him, and just like that his hand found its way on Morse's knee. He whispered: 'Well, my wife _is_ away with a friend of her own. I could invite you over to my humble home for the night.'

Morse had to lean his chin against a fist to cover his shocked grin from view.

'Oh.'

'What would you say to that, detective?'

Morse should have said no, and were he anyone with half a brain on them, he _would have_ said so too. But he was himself, so he only lifted his brows and inclined his head politely.

'I wouldn't say no.'

'Good. Are you done here?'

'Yes.'

 

* * *

 

Doctor Nicholson spoke softly, watched Morse sharply, listened with a keen ear, and _made him_ _smile_. Morse loved him for that alone - well enough for a night at least.

( _God_ , he was surely the biggest fool to ever have been up at the colleges.)

 

'Don't trip over your feet, sergeant,' Doctor Nicholson said over his shoulder when he led Morse back out of the hall. Their route was via a detour to his rooms for some of his lecture notes.

'I wasn't planning on it,' Morse said. Really. He could still manage stairs and doorsteps and zig-zagging corridors with ease, even if his own undergrad days were long past.

'Good,' Nicholson said and waved him closer. Morse leaned in, as Nicholson slowed his pace and breathed in his ear: 'That would've come across very desperate, don't you think.'

The only response Morse could utter past his choking, was a short snort of laughter. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, but let the doctor lead him along.

 

He _could_ have telephoned Jim Strange from somewhere, like he'd promised, but then again… Maybe it was one of those things that he just _forgot_ about again, his head too busy with other thoughts.

Like the fact that Jasper Nicholson's house was very nice. Annoyingly so. Like the fact that in the falling autumn night by his garden gate, the cautious looks the doctor gave Morse felt much heavier and more charged than they had back at Garstang, indoors and with a false professionalism still hanging between them.

'Come on in,' Nicholson gestured, and Morse followed suit.

 

'I wanted to ask… Um.' Morse didn't know how to finish his thoughts.

'Yes?' Doctor Nicholson asked curiously.

Morse held his gaze for a moment. What did his wife really think. Why did he invite Morse in? Was he a murderer? Why did he skirt around the investigation the way he did? How did he manage to have Morse so thoroughly enthralled so quickly?

'Nothing, sir. Sorry,' he said and laughed instead.

Nicholson shook his head, but gestured towards a few spare coat hangers, stripping off his own robes and jacket. Morse followed suit, and hung away his outer layers. Sadly, the rumpled shirt wasn't any smarter than it had been before dinner. He stared at himself for a good minute.

_What was he doing?_

'Sergeant?'

'Yes?' Morse asked, trying to hold back a wince. If only the doctor hadn't called him by title; it made the wrongness creeping under his skin all the more vivid. He followed the call anyway, deeper into the house.

 

It was clearly a home where two people lived, but where each had their own spaces. Morse's eyes trailed from one wall to another, a room there and another here - two studies - and wherever he looked he could easily tell which of the Nicholsons that particular nook belonged to. And he'd never even met the woman.

He was an intruder, and it had a cold shiver running up his spine.

Well, there was one thing in common for both the husband and wife. Where they had money to spend, they clearly didn't go for anything minimalistically modern and sleek. The house was full of _things_. Of books, rugs, and cups, and comfortable quilts over chairs.

 

On a table lay a pile of pulpy horror novels, paperbacks the lot of them, right up against a thick poetry edition, left open. Squinting at the words was in vain. He only caught a fragment full of citations.

 

'Sit down, sit down,' Doctor Nicholson said as he walked past, and Morse was caught off guard by a warm hand on his cheek. Nicholson gave a little smile at his gaping, and gestured towards a fine suede armchair.

'Thank you,' Morse mouthed and nodded. He sat down as calmly as he could, but watching the relaxed way Jasper Nicholson wandered around his sitting room only quickened his breath and pulse. Morse would have felt easier if the man had just dragged him to his bed.

 

'You play chess, Detective Morse?'

Morse blinked. 'What?'

'Do you play?' Nicholson asked. He inclined his head to the game set Morse had been staring through, without really seeing.

'Not too well, I'm afraid,' he said. 'I had a colleague who does.' Bright young Trewlove, who left for London and mocked him for his miseries before having to shoulder her own. Was it a year ago already?

'Not to worry,' Jasper Nicholson said. 'Luck's on your side, for I didn't invite you here for a chess night.'

Morse managed to give him a strained laugh in return, and though the smile stuck, Morse felt a hot flush rise to his cheeks. Nicholson's look softened and darkened curiously all at once.

'My real question,' Nicholson said calmly, 'wasn't to be chess. Rather, you look like you could do with a drink, sergeant.'

'I think I already did, sir,' Morse said grudgingly. He was still feeling what little he'd had over dinner, perhaps because he'd had quite little of said dinner too.

'Right. Quite.' The doctor nodded once and crossed over to his armchair, and loosened the knot of his tie a bit. Would it have been too eager to reach up and undo the whole thing?

 

'I don't think I've ever seen such blue eyes as yours,' Nicholson said, and looked down at him like he was something rare.

It was more than enough for Morse to make the decision, and to pull the doctor's tie from his waistcoat. He met no resistance, but the fine silk tie was like a slippery eel in his anxious hands.

 

'You're just such a lovely sight, aren't you,' Doctor Nicholson said, looking down at Morse from where he half-sat on the armrest of the chair. It was a bit condescending, kind of how you talked to an expensive horse or greyhound. The way he brushed a hand over Morse's chest, petting him slowly back and forth, didn't help his disoriented feeling at all. Still, it was gentle and warm and assertive enough to also be very pleasant.

(It certainly made Morse feel more gently and pleasantly about himself than he had in a good while. To be touched and watched like Nicholson did.)

Nicholson brushed a thumb over his cheek, and let his hand rest there, against Morse's racing pulse. 'And your jaw. Your lips,' he said. 'Just incredible.'

'Well, I...' Morse cleared his dry throat, swallowed against his wet mouth. 'Thank you?'

His ears burned, but it made Nicholson rein back a delighted laugh.

'You're welcome, my sweet boy.' It should have felt like an insult, but it only made Morse's eyes heavy and glassy and his thighs tense.

 

Nicholson's features were something like a statue, an Allegory of… Something or the other, at the Ashmolean, even despite the years he had over Morse. The way he spoke and acted was so precise and calculating that it made Morse all the more nervous about himself. But the dry playful smile tugging at Nicholson's lips - that was something else. When he laughed because of Morse, the doctor couldn't quite reach his cool and graceful aloofness. Not with how he pursed his lips against the grin.

 

It wasn't an ugly laugh at all. In fact, Morse could have well said that he _liked_ it.

 

'Kiss me,' Doctor Nicholson said, still smiling.

'That's rather… forward, sir.' Rather _arousing_ , really, dizzyingly so, but Morse didn't want to sound quite as silly as he was.

'My academic career hasn't centered around prose and poetry like yours did.' Another smile and a heavy look Morse couldn't help but adore.

'Which of your theories equals to a kiss?'

'I know I'm the mathematician here, but good heavens, I thought you'd at least be familiar with base arithmetics,' Nicholson said, a bit scoldingly. Morse pursed his lips. 'Just addition, sergeant. It's nothing more complicated than that, I promise you.'

Morse nodded. He was _very_ clumsy and awkward with the way he was, and didn't know at all what to do to fix it, so he didn't. He took a hold of Nicholson's collar and tilted his head up, and then his lips were met with a firm hunger he hadn't known to expect.

Should have, but the cool and hazy air around the doctor had fooled him. Maybe it was something Arctic, then. Some hidden warmth crackling through to the surface tundra, and that had ensnared him. Had his heart thudding against his breastbone like a herd of horses or reindeer.

 

(Easier that than to say that he was an Oxford doctor's whore for the night, and willfully involved with a suspect again. An "oops, sorry, how clumsy of me" might not have been enough of an excuse to _anyone_ at the station. _Again._ )

 

Morse blinked and turned his eyes away after the kiss and a few deep inhales. He rubbed at his eyes and cheek a bit anxiously, and couldn't help squirming. He didn't want to _want_ quite as much as he did. It was embarrassing.

Nicholson laid his hand over Morse's, and lifted his brows. He held Morse's eyes firmly until he folded his hands back in his lap.

'It's all very good,' the doctor said. 'It's perfectly all right.' He replaced Morse's nervous fingers with his own, smoothing his thumb over the moustache, and scratching the rest over the faint stubble along his jaw. Almost like he was trying to console him in his nervous twitching.

'You seem thoughtful, doctor,' Morse said, if only to say something.

'I _am_ thinking,' Doctor Nicholson agreed.

 

'You aren't exactly a schoolboy with sex, are you?' he asked. 'I would hope you've had more than your own hands.'

Morse had to close his eyes against a numbing hot buzz of embarrassment.

'Not a problem if you haven't, of course,' the doctor said. His voice turned a bit more stern. 'But in that case I would have to _teach_ you a fair bit more than I had thought.'

'No, sir,' Morse said, though he felt like he couldn't breathe. Nicholson's warm hand over his chest trailed up along his throat, to cup his chin.

'No?' The touch lingered.

He shook his head. 'I've slept with a man.' Men, plural. But seldom. He wasn't some blue-eyed country child anymore.

'Good,' Doctor Nicholson said, as simply and gladly as if he'd given a correct answer to a tutor's question. Like he was happy with Morse. His steady gaze grew too heavy to hold. Morse nodded softly to get an excuse to avert his eyes.

 

'Oh, one more thing I must ask of you. You don't have to call me _sir_ or _doctor_ for the whole night,' Nicholson said curtly. 'Actually, I'd much prefer it if you didn't. _'_

'Well, Mr Nicholson,' Morse said, testing the waters. Nicholson's look was clearly disapproving.

'Jasper. And if it's all the same to you, I'd also much prefer calling you something other than _Detective Sergeant,_ my friend.'

Morse stared at him blankly for a heartbeat or two. Nicholson met his eyes expectantly.

'Then, by all means, _Jasper,'_ he said calmly, and tried to keep his face from growing so tight as to ruin the mood. 'Feel free to drop the titles.'

'Of course. And what may I call you instead?'

'Morse,' he said softly. 'Just Morse will do.'

Jasper Nicholson scoffed gently, and rolled his eyes, but ran the back of his fingers softly against his cheek.

'I see. Perhaps you still have that academic spirit in you, then, Morse, my good lad.' He rubbed Morse's upper arm firmly, and even through his shirt and jacket, Morse felt a tense warmth growing under his skin.

'Maybe,' he said, choking on emotions he couldn't name.

 

What he knew better, was that he _really_ wanted to feel those hands on his bare skin. He yearned and burned for it, or else some other appropriately hungry way of wanting.

 

'You must like it, when you're told what to do,' Jasper said, only partly as a question. Morse furrowed his brows, but kept his mouth shut. Not that he could have said much without taking Jasper's fingers in his mouth in doing so.

'I would imagine it's a skill you'd sorely need as a policeman,' Jasper added, as if to explain his logic.

He seemed to think about something else for a short moment - his thumb paused it's slow travels across Morse's lower lip - and Morse swallowed.

 

He'd completely forgot, for a moment, that the man was a murder suspect. That the hands cradling his face could have well been the same that stabbed Osbert Page to death.

In theory. In practice, they felt far too certain and gentle in their softness to have done such a thing. They weren't a murderer's bloody hands, couldn't be, and Morse was _sure_ that it _was_ the truth this time, even though it made him the very blue-eyed idiot he didn't want to be.

It wasn't his fault. It really wasn't anything he could wish away or reason with. He just... _wanted_. He'd got curious, and he wanted company, and he needed something to get his thoughts elsewhere.

 

And right then he really wanted the company and wide hands and low voice of another man, and Jasper was there - all for him for a few hours, in his crisp white sleeves and smart waistcoat, looking down at him like a curious grey falcon from his perch.

 

'I'm not very good at following orders,' Morse mumbled against Jasper's fingers. He blinked slowly at Morse, and gave him a bit of a scolding look.

'I don't think you understood the question correctly, my boy,' Jasper said. 'Whether you like getting orders is very different from obeying them, I would think. Isn't it?'

Morse drew in a long breath, staring at Jasper's soft frown. 'Maybe.'

'Good,' Jasper said curtly, and patted him on the cheek. 'Get on your knees, then.'

It went right down his hips to his groin. Morse closed his eyes, fighting the urge to sigh out loud.

 

When he felt Jasper's warm lips press against his own again, after a long agony of only his dry thumb, he gave in.

'Would you?'

'Yes,' Morse whispered, out of breath.

'Thank you, my boy.'

He got up from the armchair, and down on the thick Persian carpet, where Jasper helped him by the hand, taking his place in the armchair. Morse laid his hands on the doctor's thighs, kneeling between them, and looked up.

 

'Oh dear,' Jasper said softly. 'Sweetheart. You really have lovely lips.'

'Jesus,' Morse whispered and dropped his gaze, only to hear Jasper's laugh again. His head was buzzing.

'Too much?' he asked. Morse nodded, face heating up, but the soft kiss Jasper pressed on his forehead was reassuring enough to have him lifting his eyes again. Jasper leaned back like a lord in an old portrait, dragging Morse's hands slowly up his thighs, to the fly of his trousers.

'You do know what to do, don't you?'

Morse nodded again.

'Get to work, then,' Jasper said. 'I'd rather you didn't stop at only touching me through my clothes, when you really do have such a lovely mouth.'

 

Morse did as he was told, and opened Jasper's belt and trousers. It had certainly been a while, but he'd faced a hardening cock or two over the years. His hands still felt shaky like leaves, particularly when Jasper's were so steady in contrast.

'Go on, it's just your lips on me again,' Jasper said, carding his fingers firmly through the top of his hair. Morse almost hoped that he hadn't visited the barber for such a close crop after all - it could have been a proper tug, a good hold, if he'd let his hair grow out a bit again.

'It's a _bit_ different,' he muttered under his breath.

'Well, yes. Easier for me to see that mouth,' Jasper said.

'Right.' It was overwhelmingly sordid, and Morse _loved_ it, and when he looked up, Jasper had a wonky smile on his lips again.

 

Sure. He'd done worse mistakes in his life. Probably.

 

Morse took a hold of Jasper's cock, and did as he was told, for once. He pressed his lips against the flushed head and kissed his way slowly down the stiffening length. His chest heaved from the sheer thrill of where he was - kneeling between Jasper's thighs, nose down in his lap - but he let each breath slowly out against the heat of Jasper's skin.

He sighed loudly. 'Oh, my... my dear boy.' The steady anchoring hand tightened in his hair. 'That's very good.'

Morse dragged his mouth up the side of Jasper's prick, placed his hands firmly on either of the man's thighs, and took him in his mouth at last, hot and heavy against his wet tongue.

The low blissful sound that Jasper let out was a better reward than any praise.

 

Oh, how Morse wanted to just… swallow and devour the man whole. And he wanted just as badly to be taken apart by the weight and length that he was mouthing against and moving his cheeks for.

Listening to the soft blessings and curses between Jasper's sighs was a delight, and feeling how his thighs tensed around him was way too exciting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a weird place to leave things but I think this chapter was a long enough ride already. 
> 
> And the next one's going to be more porn so yeah. Enjoy!


	4. Finally / Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are these chapters getting longer? Well, as it says on the tin.
> 
> I would also like to personally thank Sam Lee for [taking English trad-folk and making it gay](https://youtu.be/eROux2bY0FU).

 

> _My throat next came in for his attentions, and his touch thrilled me afresh; and when he had at length got beyond this, he lay over me again, twining his lithe limbs panther-like round my body, and gave himself up to the outpouring of a fresh ocean of kisses and caresses on my lips, chin, cheeks and brow. My excitement was so great that it seemed impossible I could contain myself any longer; the limit of endurance must surely be passed, I thought._

 

* * *

 

Morse leaned on Jasper's thighs, and let him run his hands through his hair while he sucked on his cock, nose brushing the hairy slope of skin under the hem of his shirt. He didn't complain. Not when he was so well lodged between his knees, and had the chance to hear a satisfied whisper or two between the breaths he drew through his nose.

Jasper kept his hips and arms mostly still, not jerking up against the roof of his mouth, but there was something rough in his hands. He did pull Morse steadily closer to his lap, anyway.

Until he didn't.

 

'Morse, my good boy,' Jasper said, petting his face. Morse let his cock fall from his mouth, but moaned against its underside, and pressed a wet kiss wherever he could reach past Jasper's trousers and pants.

'That's enough, quite enough,' Jasper said, more strainedly. Even out of breath, his stern tone made Morse lift his eyes with a nervous twitch.

'What?' Morse asked, but couldn't raise his voice enough before he swallowed and tried again, and the rejection hit harder that time. ' _What?_ '

'Enough of this, son, that's what I said,' Jasper said, petting his cheek, but it didn't help at all.

Morse frowned and held onto Jasper's belt and the fabric of his trousers. Enough of _what_? Enough of him?

He shook his head. 'I'm not-'

'Don't get fussy, now,' Jasper scolded him. 'It's all right. But I do want-'

'No, I don't understand,' Morse said breathlessly. He reached up to start working Jasper's waistcoat and shirt collar open. He wasn't going anywhere, he hadn't done anything yet, _he hadn't got anything_ yet and he was choking against the hammering of his heart.

'Morse,' Jasper said firmly, and held his jaw. 'You do know that I want to… have you properly, don't you? And not just your - _admittedly splendid -_ mouth.'

'Oh.'

'Yes.'

' _Oh_ , Jesus.' Morse sighed and his shoulders slumped in relief, and when he hid his face against Jasper's waistcoat with a frustrated groan, he heard and felt his laugh again.

'Good grief, my friend. And you claimed you're not one to please.'

 

Morse knew his face was red as a rose, because Jasper _told him_ so when he rubbed his hands over his cheeks and kissed him all over. It should have been illegal to give people such a fright. Nevermind that it made Morse all the more desperate for some attention too, terribly uncomfortable in his trousers by that point.

He was frustrated enough to sink his hands in Jasper's hair, and kiss him roughly in return.

 

'All right.' Jasper grabbed a firm hold of Morse's tie and the collar of his shirt, pulling him up towards himself. Morse climbed up to lean over him as best he could, and his breath caught in his throat again.

Jasper got up, nose to nose and chest to chest, and helped Morse steady himself on his feet.

'It's the first door upstairs, my boy,' Jasper said, waistcoat partly open and the tails of his shirt untucked from his open trousers. Somehow, dishevelled as he was, and even though he breathed heavily and watched Morse with slow and dark unfocused eyes, he still managed to give an order: 'I'm sure you'll manage. Move.'

Morse grabbed onto his wrist, and nodded as much as was possible with Jasper still keeping a firm hold of his collar.

'When we're up there, you don't have to do anything for the rest of the night, my sweet boy,' Jasper whispered against his mouth.

 

So, Morse let himself be dragged back to the hall and up the well-kept stairs to Jasper's bedroom - Jasper walked him along by the neck like a dog on a leash. It was ridiculous, and made his ears and cheeks burn in angry shame, but made the rest of him burn with a very different sort of fuming tension.

 

* * *

 

'On the bed,' Jasper said, closed the door, and kissed him. It felt filthy and sloppy, returning the kiss with the sweaty taste of him still lingering in his mouth, but Jasper didn't seem to mind. Only after a proper necking did he even let go of Morse's tie.

 

If he'd seemed nervous before, or at the very least reserved and tight-lipped, Jasper wasn't it in his own home. In his own bedroom. He narrowed his eyes, and even gave Morse a sly sideways look while undressing himself.

Morse couldn't say he minded it - Jasper was a bit too mellow and calculating to be outright cocky, but there was a magnetic pull in plain old confidence and comfort too. Jasper had both in abundance, as he saw, watching him from the edge of the bed. He stripped down and threw each piece of clothing on the back of a chair that might have only been there for that very purpose.

Or maybe Morse was jealous. Maybe he envied the fine house and Egyptian cotton sheets. Maybe he envied how intelligent and proud Jasper looked.

'You could hardly keep your eyes open, while you were working your mouth,' Jasper said. 'Now that you've pursed those lips, you're looking at me again.'

Morse huffed and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. 'Maybe I like what I see,' he said.

Jasper laughed. 'I should hope so.'

 

Well, he _really did_ , he was throbbing against the fly of his trousers and gasping for breath with how much he wanted the man. And, judging by how fondly Jasper smirked, looking at his heaving chest and red face, it wasn't a secret either.

He looked comfortable in his skin, while Morse had never been as much at home in his. He was also fairly certain that he would never have become that, either.

It was a body, yes, and it got him from place to place. But if he held no particular resentment for his fidgety hands and awkward angles anymore - or his nose, too big both figuratively and aesthetically speaking - there were no fond feelings either.

 

Jasper was soft like an academic, and a few years firmly past his young prime, but his body was wiry and smooth before Morse. And he was very firm and _very_ eager with the spry way he advanced _over_ Morse, straddling his thighs.

 

'Let's have look at you, now,' he said, working Morse's tie and belt off first. 'I've been admiring that chest and your arms for a while already.'

Morse reached up to help him unbutton the shirt, but Jasper grabbed his hands and moved them away. Morse frowned.

'I thought I told you.'

'Told what?' Morse asked, back in his silly and brainless questions.

'That you don't have to do anything for the rest of the night,' Jasper explained patiently, slipping down past Morse's knees to take care of his shoes and socks. 'Just let me take care of these for you.'

Morse nodded, unable to come up with anything else. When Jasper got back up, he went for his trousers, _finally_.

 

It was a quiet moment of both of them sharing the same heavy air, when Jasper finally pulled the shirt off of him, and pushed Morse backwards onto the bed. Morse looked up at him, his dark and thoughtful eyes roaming over his body. As little as a soft brush of Jasper's fingers over his inner thigh had his stomach tense and his cock twitch.

Jasper said something.

'What?' Morse asked breathlessly.

' _Stunning_ , I said, though of course I can come up with another word, too, if it isn't to your liking.' Jasper frowned. 'A delight, maybe, a treasure. Enrapturing. A _Michelangelo_ , even, surely a piece of art.'

'Oh.'

It was too late to try and explain that he just hadn't managed to make sense of the first word, now that he couldn't make sense of anything _but_ those heady praises. Luckily he didn't have to come up with a better answer, because Jasper leaned in, silencing him with a rough kiss, and his head spun.

 

Jasper spread his warm hands across Morse's hips, pushing them slowly up his abdomen, teasing and trailing over hair and freckles. His lips followed their own trail, down Morse's neck.

He paused to mutter into Morse's ear: 'Oh, you sweet thing. You really are a _man_.'

By that point, all the blood from his brain must have fled to his skin and groin. The feeling might have been Heaven.

'Jasper, please, enough,' Morse begged. He needed a proper shag. He burned and itched for it all over.

'Enough? Oh, I don't think so,' Jasper said with a breathless little laugh, and climbed up on top of him again, to press his lips against Morse's ear. His voice was a gentle thrum against his chest, his body warm and heavy against his, and the length of his stiff cock hard against Morse's own. He was like a suffocating summer storm.

'I'm all nerves for you, Morse, my dear boy, just looking at you. Truly gone.'

 

Morse turned his head, lips already tingling and sore from all their previous friction. He held onto Jasper's back for another kiss, his shoulder blades under warm flesh, though he had no idea whether he'd have rather wrestled or embraced the man.

He was angry and grateful at the same time, for the same desperate desire.

'Please,' Morse whispered between kisses.

Jasper hummed softly, grinding his hips down against his. 'Just the thought of taking you apart, coloured pink like that, like a pastel-'

'Yes! Yes,' Morse begged, and ran his needy hands down Jasper's sides. He stuttered for a moment and he ground his hips up against Jasper. 'Please. _Please,_  Jasper, do it. Shag me. Fuck me.'

'Some rowdy language.' Jasper kissed a trail down his cheek and neck.

'Yes.'

'Must be grammar school. Not the best grounds for making proper gentlemen.'

Morse breathed loudly, and laughed at the tickling touch, face flushed and eyes misting over again. His heart hammered against his breastbone, as he let Jasper shower his skin in hungry kisses.

 

Crisp cotton linens beneath, and the soft silence of a wealthy academic's bedroom around him. The world was well and blessedly small and quiet. Cut off from all the busy rest of it.

He didn't have to think _anything_. He didn't have to do anything, and just maybe he didn't even have to _be_ anything.

He could just sink into the bed and let Jasper's hands and lips rove over his chest and ribs and stomach and hips. Everything was only in Jasper's firm weight and sweaty thighs against his, and the friction of his hand when he tugged on Morse's cock.

He drew in a sharp breath and thrust his hips up. He wanted more. His sides shook with his quick breaths and the effort of desperately lusting for that more.

 

Jasper asked something, he heard the tone, but there was no trying to make sense of the words. Just the warm sound against him from his chest to his ear, so close to each other. Jasper asked again, and pressed some too-light kisses against his jaw, nose against his cheek, and pressed his body down against him.

Morse nodded, again and again.

Whatever it was, he agreed - it was good, he'd needed someone for so long, and he wanted Jasper so much he ached.

'Yes,' he said, because it was all he could think. _Yes_ , yes, yes.

Jasper laughed against his skin. Morse turned his head to kiss him again, and grabbed his wrist to get him to _move the bloody hand_ and help him get off if nothing else.

 

'All right! Turn around, Morse, turn around, then,' Jasper said softly, so amused that it was almost in a singing tone. 'I've kept you waiting for some time, already. I'm so sorry, my sweet boy.'

Morse met his eyes, and Jasper brushed Morse's sweaty hair away from his forehead, fingers as sweaty and hot and soft as the rest of him. His touch trailed down again, and stopped on Morse's mouth.

'Do it already.' Morse heaved in breath after breath, and nodded shakily against Jasper's steady hand.

'Do what, my boy?'

'Bloody _halve me._ '

 

Jasper's surprised laugh and incredulous look, and the scolding hand that brushed over Morse's mouth again, were well worth the crude words. Morse shook his head wholly unapologetically. He wanted it.

 

'Oh,' Jasper said. 'Well. Get on your front, then.' He pushed a thumb against Morse's lips. Morse parted them gladly, running his tongue up Jasper's finger and his hands up his sides, but right then Jasper drew his hand away, and got up. He clapped Morse firmly on the thigh.

'Do turn over, sweetheart. I'll _halve_ you, and it'll be a pleasure.'

Bless him.

Morse had hardly managed to crawl over onto his stomach, before Jasper's hands were on him again, trailing firmly over his hips and behind. Jasper leaned over Morse to kiss the curve of his spine, and shortly after he pushed a slick finger inside him.

Morse spread his thighs to let Jasper get closer, _to finally mount him with that good proper cock, please_ , and did his best to get his knees to support him.

'That's a very good lad,' Jasper said, the knuckles of his hand firmly against his buttocks, and Morse couldn't do much except laugh and huff into the pillows.

Jasper pulled his finger out and leaned over Morse to kiss his back like a lover. (Not that he needed one, but it did feel good all the same. So good that Morse reached back to hold onto his hand, where it gripped his waist.)

 

Just as Jasper's firm grip melted into a slow massaging hold over the back of Morse's ribcage, he pushed his cock past his rim. It wasn't a painful shock, but the burn and stretch still made Morse jerk.

Jasper hushed him. 'You're so tense, dove. So wound up. I don't know what to do with you,' he said, too coolly for how hot and heavy and wide he was inside him.

Morse turned his head on the pillows and pushed his hips back against Jasper's. 'I'm always like that,' he sighed. 'Just do what you will.'

It was the right thing to say, because Jasper's soft petting changed into a raptor-like hold on his hips.

'I know what I like, make no mistake.' Deeper. Jasper took a hold of his hair again.

'I'm just trying to be polite.' Again. Morse gasped.

'Since I took you out for a date, and all that.' And again.

And again, and he was moving inside Morse and filling him and driving him past bliss, like some relentless wave crashing against a coast off in Cornwall or an ax against a tree or stab after stab with a hot iron-

 

-and he wasn't really thinking about it in those terms anymore, but he felt Jasper's warm sweaty hands and thighs and balls and prick and stomach so close against his own body, taking him apart, that he let himself grunt aloud for him. And it was glorious, in all of its embarrassing, perverted heat.

 

With a stuttering shove and gush, Jasper came. He clung onto him, and panted against Morse's back, and after a few last thrusts he pulled out, all too soon.

Morse did his best to disagree, and luckily _no_ was a simple word to moan, but Jasper's fingers brought the pressure back. Morse gasped into the pillows.

'Good boy. That's terrific,' Jasper cooed. Morse grabbed at the sheets. 'Let's get it over with.' And, when Jasper finally took a hold of his cock again, Morse was back to his earlier mantra of _yes_.

Jasper held tightly onto his hair, pressed him down, and the tension snapped and there was release. He came onto his stomach and the bed and over Jasper's steady hand.

 

Morse didn't know if he saw anything at all, but he felt the way his hair stuck onto his forehead with sweat.

'That's the way it's done, my love.'

A satisfied _nghm_ was all he managed to say in return. And Jasper - the bloody awful, wonderful man - had the audacity to laugh and pat his arse gently at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even have anything to say except that Morse probably really needed to get laid by now.


	5. It Happened Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's very sweet and gay, until it isn't, and then it just might be again.
> 
> Also I updated [the full playlist here](https://open.spotify.com/user/jasminvmaja/playlist/2KafkxDTwyfc1IinADZGTv?si=w6LGmeyqTIiaAlawbNPOAQ) and into the first chapter's notes. Give it a listen if you'd like!  
> (I do these for literally every writing project.)

 

> _I put out my hands and seized de Beaupre's head to put a stop to the excruciating pleasure, but he caught my wrists and forced me to submit. The maddening force of the voluptuous sensations made my brain whirl in intoxication, and brought on a sort of delirium, which deprived me of all power of movement; so that I lay in a helpless stupor of ecstasy, ravished by the wondrous way in which de Beaupre had exerted his powers of touch upon me. - -_
> 
> _I think I lost consciousness for a time, as the next thing I remember was de Beaupre patting my cheek as he looked down into my face. - -_
> 
> _'It takes it out of you a bit; doesn't it?'_
> 
> _'I should just think so,' I returned._

 

* * *

 

'You're a funny sort,' Jasper said, still holding an arm over his chest. There was an edge to his words, but it was more curious than threatening, so Morse just lifted his eyebrows. 'You don't hide your distaste, but you certainly don't hide your joy either.'

Morse chewed on his words for a moment, and couldn't decide whether he felt insulted or indifferent about such comments. Impulsive, too eager, too easy to spark into angry decisions - that was how anyone else would have called it. He knew it was true, too.

 

'Maybe I should try harder,' he said, and gave Jasper a quick look. Not that he could have done anything to help Morse with it, but at least there was sympathy in the way he smiled. Something amused too, but the longer his eyes lingered on Morse's, the less laughter there was.

'Oh, no.' Jasper sounded sincerely sorry for the very thought, and reached for his face again. 'Why on earth, my boy, would you do that?'

Morse twisted his lips. 'I'd save myself a lot of trouble if I did.'

'There are enough men, already, who refuse to face their feelings,' Jasper said. 'Would really be a shame if you were to be one of them.'

Morse almost snapped _"of course I face my feelings!"_ and then immediately after _"what_ feelings _are you going on about?"_ but then Jasper decided to tease a soft finger over his lips again.

 

His mind tripped over that caress a few times, before it caught onto Jasper's meaning. Right.

 

'Actually, I don't… or, it's not that _you're…'_ He tried to come up with something coherent, but found it very hard to say anything, when each word turned into an unintentional kiss. Jasper looked at him quietly, hand resting gently on the corner of his mouth. Morse didn't know what to do with the calm intimacy.

But to call him a man who denied his feelings. _Denied_?

He was lying in Jasper's bed, under his arm, head on his pillow. If Denial was a vessel, and somewhere a port called Decency, Morse was anchored on the _wrong_ side of the Atlantic, having dashed away from all of that nonsense like a gay spring hare.

He frowned. 'Err, I'm not a - I mean... _no_.'

Jasper touched his lips again. 'No?'

'No,' Morse said.

'I would very much love to hear that sentence in its entirety.'

 

Morse let out a long breath against Jasper's fingers, and Jasper narrowed his eyes a bit suspiciously. He pulled a face that seemed most suited to the end half of a long lecture - something profoundly exhausted, but still a look meant encourage an especially thick-headed student to go forth with their question anyway, since they'd already started, and no one had any focus left for anything cleverer anyway.

'I do like women,' Morse said in a small voice.

 

Jasper gave him a long cool look. He inclined his head politely, staring at the ceiling with a bit of a helpless look on his face, and said tightly: 'I wouldn't say - from my personal point of view, of course, but I do know a thing or two about empirical paradigms in science…'

His face felt funny, but Morse couldn't say whether he'd gone white as a ghost or red as his hair.

'I wouldn't say it seems like you particularly _dislike_ men, either.'

Morse stared ahead. Jasper's hand slipped downwards to pet his chin and jaw gently.

'Mm,' he said.

'Wouldn't you agree?'

'Mm,' he said again, with a bit weaker resolve.

 

Something grew tighter in his throat and under his jaw, even though Jasper's gentle hand was away from his cheeks and throat - back on his chest, petting his skin gently. Maybe he was tired, maybe he felt ashamed. Morse didn't know what it was, exactly, but he didn't think he wanted to stay and find out, either. The feeling of dread was crawling up towards the back of his neck.

 

'I think I should leave, actually.'

'I don't,' Jasper said, leaning on his hand beside him.

'I shouldn't have come here in the first place.'

'Debatable,' Jasper said. 'But if you hadn't, I would have had to go looking for you some other evening.'

Morse didn't have an argument for such a calm and simple statement. Jasper didn't look at all uncomfortable with lying next to him like that, even if he wasn't outright flirting around, and it was… well, it wasn't bad. And Morse was weak for flattery, too easily lead astray. He moved to sit up.

'Your wife-'

'Will not mind.' Jasper frowned, and his hand stilled over Morse's anxious heart. Once again, he experienced the already familiar feeling of having misunderstood the entire point of his current lecture.

Jasper took a deep breath and shook his head gently. 'Morse, my good boy. Carys and I have _very_ different views on the attractive qualities of men.'

Morse stared at him for a second too long to call himself a very bright detective. Then the puzzle finally came together.

 

'Ah,' he said, and then he fell quiet again. He let his hand fall back across himself, over the duvet instead of trying to peel it off, just below Jasper's.

'My dear,' Jasper said. 'I would rather you slept now and worried tomorrow. And think of the neighbours! If you went through the garden, making all kinds of noise at this hour…' He shook his head with a positively outraged look, and there he went again - making Morse hold back a silly grin, and feel a little less heavy of heart. Even if it was just for a while.

'All right.'

'I knew you were a sensible man, my friend.' Jasper reached over to turn off the lamp. He rubbed Morse's arm gently, and left his hand there as he settled down on the pillows.

 

There were certainly worse places where he could have spent that night. His isolated bunker at work, or the exhausting, cramped flat with its insufferable neighbours, both jammed full with just his own thoughts and anxieties, and his heavy tired breathing, even more so without music. Jasper's dark bedroom was covered in his foreign thoughts instead - little unfamiliar details here and there, the sounds of a strangely quiet street carrying from outside - and made it easier to let his mind wander.

He was in over his head, staring at the ceiling in a tired bliss. The soft scent of well-handled old furniture and clean linen got mixed with the sweat and sex, and Jasper's faint cologne, and he couldn't say it wasn't all welcome in its strangeness. It was surreal.

He wanted to comment on it, but he didn't want to disturb the strange liminal moment where he wasn't quite himself. He was in someone else's little life, not his own, and for once he had room to just lie there next to someone else.

 

He yawned. Jasper's soft exhale must have stood for a laugh.

Having hardly slept at all in two previous nights must have had a hand in his odd feeling, too, and Jasper's warm arms certainly did.

Still, as far as beds went, it was a nice enough one to sleep in.

 

* * *

 

The floors were painted bright with the morning light, but the cool sun wasn't much help yet. Warm tea, warm shower, warm clothes were good, so were warm kisses. Sadly, when he woke up - hair sticking up in an adorable way, moustache making his sleepy frown even deeper, and icy blue eyes avoiding any kind of contact - Morse hadn't been much keen on holding any kind of conversation.

 

 _Knock knock_.

'Morse?'

No reply.

 

 _Knock knock_.

'Morse, my good man, are you quite done there? I'm about to leave half past, and it's eight now.'

Jasper rubbed a hand over his forehead and stared at the bathroom door.

 

After a good amount of sloshing water and a few hesitant footsteps, the lock clicked and the door opened a sliver. Morse looked spooked still, his lips downturned and eyes wide.

'What?'

'Are you ready to… well, get ready?' Jasper asked.

'Of course,' Morse said - though as he was, dripping with water, and squeezing yesterday's rumpled shirt in his hands, he seemed anything but. The poor thing, really.

Jasper placed his hands on his hips, and did his best not to stare at Morse's pale shoulders, lovely wiry arms and beautiful bare chest. 'I can bring you a clean shirt if you'd like.'

Something in Morse's face grew tighter. 'Thank you, but I… That's not necessary.'

'Surely you can't get to work in a shirt from two days ago,' Jasper said.

'It isn't,' Morse insisted, already pulling the vest on and getting to work with turning the sleeves right way around. Jasper could swear no shirt got as badly wrinkled in a day.

 

In any other situation he would have _loved_ to explore that pride. Morse was brimming with it in such glorious excess. Alas, morning light and responsibilities came in the way.

 

'Come and get a clean shirt from the wardrobe, _please_ ,' Jasper said. 'I won't have a peace of mind if I know I let you run off in such a sorry state.'

Morse looked even more suspicious. Jasper checked his watch quickly, but it only made Morse flush red and shift his weight uncomfortably, compressing his shoulders like he was trying to fold himself away.

 _Of course_. Jasper sighed.

'I will _lend_ it to you,' he said, as sincerely as he knew to do. 'If you will not take it otherwise, it's something you can borrow.'

'You shouldn't,' Morse said. 'I shouldn't.'

'It isn't a - whatever it is you think. Not a payment, Morse,' Jasper promised firmly, and watched the lad's resolve crumble.

'Right,' Morse said. He ran a hand over his face, tugging anxiously at his ear, but came to his senses, and followed him back towards the bedroom.

 

'Pick one that fits the best,' Jasper said. He would have kissed the boy one more time if he'd been sure that they would have still got out on time. 'I'll be downstairs. Come to the study when you're dressed.'

Morse glanced over his shoulder, but flashed him a sheepish smile and nodded.

A lovely, clever thing he was. Hopefully he knew that whatever horrors had gone on in the Bodleian, Jasper was as ignorant and innocent as he was sorry and frightened. Back to work, for the both of them. His would have been much less stressful if Morse carried on with his own, and found out what had happened in the library.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Morse felt was a professional sense of appallment and disbelief. The sheer ruthlessness of using someone, and in such a horrifying way, to advance one's own academic career was staggering. Thursday seemed to agree.

 

The second feeling was a hot flash of insulted shame, from being used as well, and being played like a fiddle. Not only had it happened, it had happened _again_. He was like a cart horse, turning wherever he was told with blinkers on, satisfied with a praise and a pat.

It was an unprofessional anger, and one he couldn't voice, but it gave his steps an additional force, when Thursday asked if they should leave Burrowes be for the time being.

'Yes,' Morse said, more than ready to head back to Garstang, and see if Doctor Nicholson wanted to answer a few questions. 'No wonder he didn't want to talk about the attempts to scare him.'

'Seeing as they rang true. Funny that,' Thursday agreed.

 

But they didn't.

 

Jasper's gestures were wild, and his voice first heated and loud, then low and thin. Even though Thursday was the inspector, Morse couldn't keep his tongue in check. The hammering of his heart only settled after Jasper sat down. The shame he'd felt for his own sake changed into something else, when the doctor's voice broke.

Morse turned away, and left the condolences and apologies for Thursday.

He'd let himself be roped in for a night and a morning, damn the man. Even that little he'd taken too personally, and jumped right to offended outrage after one half of a tale. Was it a new record on his list of most moronic ways to handle a case? Maybe he should have asked Max or Strange to start some kind of a betting list.

 

Luckily he didn't have time to wallow, when the neat new knot in that end of their case opened up another tangle elsewhere.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have accidentally made Jasper Nicholson my new favourite character lmao, but hey, no straight has ever been that over-flowingly yearningly poetic and anxiously stuttering at the same time, so I'm sorry but I claim him for the queers now thanks.


	6. Just to Hear It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just the final wrap up, and I quote, _#all characters must be given baggage_ (Fitzrove, 2019)

 

> _At the end of a week I was thoroughly settled down at school, and certainly enjoyed it much better than home, where the surroundings were dreary in the extreme for a boy, particularly when my father's coldness towards me was taken into consideration. --_
> 
> _The evenings after retiring to the dormitory were taken up as before, alternately with story-telling and, more exciting enjoyments, but I shall not weary the reader any further with a minute recital of our doings, and will only stop to give one or two instances which occur more particularly to me._

 

* * *

 

It might have been a bad idea to return to Garstang after everything, but every day he'd refused to give in to the nagging feeling, it kept him up longer at night.

 

'Doctor Nicholson?' Morse knocked on the door frame, and carefully pushed himself in.

 

Jasper turned around from his desk, and didn't look at all happy to be seeing him again. He put down a stack of papers loudly and firmly, went around the desk, and cleared his throat.

'Do come in, detective,' he said coolly, and gestured for him to step closer. 'Have you more to ask about my mathematical research? And who I've claimed it from?'

'No,' Morse said.

'My library requests?'

'No,' he said again, and took a deep breath to keep Jasper from interrupting him a second time. 'I'm not here on duty.'

'Curiouser and curiouser. Then why are you here?' Jasper asked. 'Not planning to sign up for studies again, are you? I fear I can't help you with any recommendations for English.'

 

Morse smiled tightly. 'No. And I won't be long,' he promised. Jasper gave him a long look, but was as polite and controlled as when they'd first met in the same room. 'I just wanted to come and let you know that the investigations on Osbert Page's murder have ended.'

'Yes, I've been told,' Jasper said.

'Good,' Morse said. 'I just… wanted to make sure. We won't be interviewing you anymore.'

 

'I'm glad for that,' Jasper said firmly. He looked down at his desk with a soft exhale, and Morse thought he saw the hint of a smile. 'So is Carys, she was very offended about the whole circus on my behalf.'

'Your wife's back in town, then?' Morse asked, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd struggled to come up with a proper way to start what he really came to say, and every possible opening he'd planned on his way was quickly becoming useless.

'Yes. She came back last weekend,' Jasper said with a quick glance in his direction.

Morse nodded once, gave another tight smile in return, and found his head echoing with a panic-induced emptiness, void of any way to keep the conversation going.

 

'I told her about you, of course,' Jasper said quickly. Morse froze where he stood and met his steady eyes.

'What?'

'That you'd been with me,' Jasper said. 'That you were investigating… well, all of it. That it was you who found out who it was that kept bothering - harassing - me over the matter.'

Morse stared at him in confused silence, and half of the words swam past him. He could only latch onto the first few.

Jasper had told  _his wife_ about him? About Morse spending a night in their house?

'Don't look so shocked,' Jasper said, but it wasn't done quite so easily. Morse worked his throat a few times, and pulled a face. What was he even supposed to reply to that?

'I didn't expect that,' he said. 'That's all.'

'We've been married for a long time already, her and I,' Jasper said. His look grew a bit warmer, less guarded. 'I promise you, I told her nothing she hasn't heard before.'

It wasn't reassuring, per se, but Morse tried to breathe normally again.

 

At least Jasper wasn't looking particularly comfortable either. He left his desk, rubbing his hands over his face.

 

'Did I ever tell you how I met Carys?' he asked. 'Or, well… How she came to be Mrs Nicholson. That's what I meant.'

Morse wasn't sure where the conversation was headed, but shook his head. 'No, you didn't.'

'I think I should have,' Jasper said and sighed, walking to the window. He frowned a little, and looked like he was somewhere very far away in his thoughts, though still following the length of the corridors.

 

'Her brother was up at the same time as I. We studied together. Francis, though we all just called him Collie. Collier, it's Carys's maiden name, and she started her studies in Lady Mathilda's a few years after we started here,' he said, looking out into the quad as he gathered his thoughts.

Morse wandered a few steps closer to listen, hands in his pockets, but kept a few feet between them.

Jasper cleared his throat. 'And, um... we talked, me and him, about a great many things. Everything, really, and she'd join in with a few of her friends. We had quite a gossip club between us.' He made a fist of his hand, and shoved it in his pocket, picking at the edge of the curtains with the other.

'And she was the one who found me after... well. After I ruined everything. After everyone around the colleges got to hear about what had happened to Emile. I couldn't talk much about it, but she knew I had the notebooks.'

 

Morse couldn't meet his eyes, but nodded softly. It wasn't a question of if, but it still hung heavily in the air. He didn't want to leave it unsaid, either. 'You loved him.'

Jasper's glance was quick, but not offended. 'Well, as much a silly undergraduate student can. I was... enamored, I suppose.'

'You said you were friends.'

'I would like to think so, yes. He used to call me a friend,' Jasper said. Before Morse had a chance to ask anything, he lifted a firm hand and pointed at him. 'Don't take this the wrong way. Of course I wouldn't have dreamt of ever acting upon that fancy, I knew my place. I still know, and I'm ashamed of… of how little I could do for them.'

Morse turned away to give him some space, but couldn't help the uncomfortable tension in his arms, when Jasper fell quiet and covered his eyes for a moment.

'You were young,' Morse offered weakly. Jasper scoffed.

'And an idiot,' he said under his breath, but gathered himself again as he spoke up. 'I won't lie - I was certainly affected by the way he  _was_. An amazingly charismatic lecturer. And in the old sense, too - he could be absolutely fierce. Brilliant. I truly wanted to help him and his family. They were just lovely people, all of them, and I… I couldn't, in the end.'

 

Morse looked at his shoes. Jasper looked out of the window. His breaths were still a bit ragged, but not for too long.

'Sorry, where was I?'

Morse swallowed tightly. 'Your wife.'

Jasper nodded. 'Carys. She came to me after all that. And she listened to me.'

'Did she know Emile? The Baumgartens?'

'No, no. She's always been one for literature and social sciences. Physics never interested her much,' Jasper said. 'But she knew me. She was the one who didn't laugh at my- my- well, the mess I'd created for myself.'

Morse nodded softly.

'She didn't laugh when I told her what I'd done with Emile's work, and how I felt about it all. Even how I'd felt about Emile. She understood.' Jasper shrugged helplessly. 'And I am still very grateful to her for that.'

Morse flashed him a small dry smile. 'Grateful enough to marry her?'

'Yes,' Jasper said without hesitation. Then he huffed out a little laugh as well, forced though it was. 'Well, she was, really. She was the one to propose.'

Morse lifted a brow. Jasper met it with a nonchalant look.

'I do let others lead every now and then.'

'Right,' Morse said. But not in bed, or at least not when he'd had Morse there. He kept it to himself, but Jasper must have seen something in his expression, when he relaxed against the windowsill a bit.

'I do enjoy life with her, and I do mean it when I say that I love her. Even if it's not like you'd expect most marriages to handle that part,' Jasper said.

'Of course,' Morse said, and just like that it was very uncomfortable again.

 

Trying to keep still under Jasper's earnest and open gaze was almost as difficult as he'd felt staring at a nervous tiger. 'Right, I...' Morse rubbed at his neck and tried again to smile a little. 'I just wanted to apologise.'

'There's nothing to apologise for, my friend,' Jasper said. 'But if it eases your mind, you're forgiven.'

 

'Why didn't you just come and tell us?' Morse asked. 'About Burrowes? We could have cleared you from the list of suspects right from the start.'

'Would you?' Jasper asked, managing to gather his voice again. 'Really, if you were in my shoes. Would you have walked to the law with a story like this? Just right out of here, with the hideous little golem in hand.'

'Well...' Morse tilted his head. Fair enough, probably not.

Jasper didn't look surprised. He just smiled, though his eyes were still a little too wild and wet to seem fully at ease. 'Can you blame me for wanting to keep that tale to myself instead of telling the police?'

Morse shrugged, eyeing the floor for a thought or two. 'I'm the policeman who walked here just to hear it.'

 

He lifted his eyes just in time to see Jasper's shocked look turn into a puzzled smile.

 

Jasper shook his head and looked at the ceiling, crossing his arms as if to ponder upon the answer he'd been given. 'Yes. Yes you are,' he said. 'I've no idea where that'll end up taking you.'

Morse shifted his weight on his feet, and crossed his arms slowly across his chest, mirroring Jasper's.

'Could bring me here, again, I suppose,' he said calmly, giving him a slow look from under his brows. He still had a shirt to return, after all.

'Really?' Jasper asked, and raised a brow. Morse let his smirk break through.

'It's always a possibility.'

'Well, in that case. What do you think - just hypothetically, of course,' Jasper said, lifting his chin a bit, as if measuring him somehow. 'Would you think it might be possible some time, say, next week?'

There was no use in lying about it or trying to hide his amusement - Morse really liked his appreciative tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [DELETED SCENE: a week or so after the episode, now that jasper's been cleared of murder suspicions and carys is back home from cambridge, both chilling in their sitting room with face masks on and a few glasses of wine keeping them company]
> 
>  **jasper:** i had a boy over while you were away  
>  **carys:** ooh was he cute  
>  **jasper:** yeah, he's a policeman  
>  **carys:** [lifting up cucumber slices from eyes] hoe you didn't  
>  **jasper:** yeah i did  
>  **carys:** well at least he wasn't some-  
>  **jasper:** used to be a literature student at lonsdale, flirted at me over those books i've been reading at the bodleian  
>  **carys:** hoe oh my god  
>  **jasper:** what other choice did i, a poor lonely gentleman, have when my beautiful wife left me alone so cruelly  
>  **carys:** we both know that if i'd worn a suit for the wedding pictures, you'd have been the one to look like you were my femme bride  
>  **jasper:** rude  
>  **carys:** if that boy of yours is more of a twink than you were, i'll send him a letter to congratulate him on the achievement
> 
>  
> 
> I had absolutely no reason to go as hard with this fic as I did but boy have I dug my way deep into this rabbit hole lmao
> 
> So, maybe they went on another date, because they are really cute.


End file.
